


Citizen Shannon

by Noctumsolis, ToasterBonanza



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Befriending a New Lifeform, Buddhism, Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-TNG, Sentient Ship, The Fourth Way, The Void, self-perception, the nature of the soul, to thine own self be true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctumsolis/pseuds/Noctumsolis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: Takes place five years after the end of "Portrait of The Spyhunter As a Young Man"The Investigator, by sheer chance, makes contact with a very unusual ship and finds himself invited aboard as the ship's guest.(Written with friend NoctumSolis)
Kudos: 1
Collections: Hold Your Fire No Canon Required





	1. Panic Attack

_BANG._

Nikolai gasped awake in the low lights of his narrow quarters. A dull ache on the side of his head. Rough carpet beneath his body. He lay still, prone.

 _BRZZZ_ came the rumble through the hull as the sparse items around the room jumped and shuddered. His hardware vibrated. The ship was in danger. Beyond his quarters blared the RED ALERT signal.

He was sprawled under blankets on the floor in his night clothes. Get up. Get dressed. Find the captain. Convince the captain to trade him away to spare the crew.

His body changed clothes while his mind roiled with every possibility of what he could control and what he could not. Concussive blows to the ship meant—he didn’t know enough about this ship’s specifications, only that he was still alive so there wasn’t a breach in the hull next to him. Was there even a point to contacting the captain?

Cane in one hand and field kit in the other, he started for the door but stopped himself. There could be an invasion party on this deck. If he walked out, he could lose all of his leverage. He went to the meager computer console next to his bed. Keep a level voice. “Investigator to Bridge, acknowledge.”

Nothing. “Investigator to Bridge, acknowledge.”

Fleet protocols be damned! He may be a civilian, but he was The Investigator! “Investigator to Bridge! Acknowledge!” Nothing. The hull rumbled once more. He felt it again in his hardware, as if the circuits would pull the marrow out of his bones. He was running out of time.

The console’s face would not come off with brute force. It required delicate work so as not to trip any alarms or damage the components beneath. He undid the top button of his shirt as it was already stifling him. Sweat collected under his arms.

The face plate came off, intricate threading revealed like abstract embroidery. Nikolai pulled the compact tablet from his kit. A simple repeating signal along subspace would attract attention so long as he could make it clear that the signal came from an intelligent being rather than background noise of the universe. The first ten digits of Euler’s constant. A distress signal was too risky; he couldn’t guarantee that whoever responded would be friendly.

A numbness started in one of his hands as he worked. He was losing time. He was worthless dead. Providence, even in this moment, he couldn’t help smiling at the fact that he was worthless dead. The thought made him giddy and buoyed him through the exacting, merciless work of interfacing his tablet with the console. Six years and he was still adjusting to this new relationship with himself.

He had unbuttoned his black shirt down to the notch of his vest by the time the tablet chimed and lit up to indicate a successful connection. The numbness hadn’t subsided. His chest was tight. The on-duty doctor could stop his heart briefly before the killswitch activated, possibly enough to prevent his cardiac arrest. Or he could die here. Slowly, painfully, alone. Venturing beyond his quarters was necessary, even if there was a squadron of invading marines on the other side.

The moment he turned away from the console, the intercom cut on. “Investigator? Please come to the bridge.”

No guarantee that the officer wasn’t contacting him under duress. Perhaps he was being summoned to negotiate the terms of his own capture, a skill he’d been developing but had yet to employ. He blotted the sweat on his neck, face, and chest before re-buttoning the shirt.

Cane and field kit in hand, one step toward the door and he felt the absence of his cigarette case. The numbness was turning to pins and needles along the data ports in his torso. The case was next to the cot. He slipped it into his inner vest pocket. They’d be useful during negotiations.

He found a pristine but empty corridor and only now realized that the red alert alarms had ceased. This fact did not bring him comfort. He could neither confirm nor disprove his suspicion that the ship had been captured and the crew were being held hostage. All he had to do was not let on that was in the middle of a myocardial infarction, and he could free all of them.

He had time to activate his hardware in the turbolift. Best that there were no reflective surfaces. He didn’t want to see what he’d look like an hour before his death.

Stepping through the doorway to the bridge, he found a shocking scene: a chatty, unperturbed crew in good spirits and their captain enthralled by the image on the viewscreen. He couldn’t decide between being angry and being grateful.

“Investigator!” Captain Guang was more cheerful than Nikolai could tolerate at the moment. “I knew having you aboard would bring us good luck.”

“Of course, sir.” He couldn’t stop leaning on his cane because it stopped him from collapsing.

Captain Guang turned back to the viewscreen, giving Nikolai the opportunity to surreptitiously deactivate his hardware. “I assume that your access to a Soong-class ship was one of those secrets you could not reveal until you had no other choice. I knew your work was important to the Federation, but I underestimated its significance.”

The pins and needles were spreading up to his chest, making it difficult to hear all of Captain Guang’s poetical waxing over the “marvelous little ship” which had apparently come to their aide. The term ‘Soong-class’ rang vaguely familiar before sinking into the murkiness of memory. In a better state, he too would be fascinated. “The layout recalls to me the civilian ships from a century ago, such as the ones used by the Medusans. I believe the structure on the primary hull is meant to resemble a visor. Ah! But the secondary hull! Symmetrical like shoulders. It looks nothing like us, and yet I find something so familiar, so human about this ship.”

“Naturally,” said Nikolai flatly.

Captain Guang gestured for an officer to open a channel with the ship. “Citizen Shannon, you may now transfer the Investigator to your vessel—”

“Sickbay.” To the captain’s concerned look, he quickly added, “This is protocol with Soong-class ships.”

“—Transfer to sickbay. You may now transfer.”

The moment he was freed of the transporter field aboard the other ship, he collapsed across the nearest medical bed. “My heart,” he gasped, sweat now covering sticking his shirt to his body. The deeper he tried to breathe, the harder it seemed. “My heart.”

“Please lie fully on the bed,” came the pleasant bland voice from somewhere he couldn’t determine. He had no choice but to obey, falling on his back. The edges of his vision were growing dark.

A force field blinked over him. Tiny butterfly-like machines swarmed outside the force field with minute lights winking at him. He gulped air and unbuttoned his shirt once more, expecting one of the machine to land on him.

Each breath became easier. The pain in his chest was slipping away. The pins and needles were disappearing.

He was alive. Providence, he was alive.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He now remembered that he had been sleeping before all of this….

He gasped awake to low, soft light on a sickbay bed. The Soong-class. A shiver went through him from the cold air blowing against his bare chest. Re-buttoning his shirt, he sat up slowly to preen before the personnel on duty noticed him. “Doctor?”

“Greetings, Friend,” said the voice from before. “You are safe here. I will care for you.”

He looked around carefully for the source of the voice. It seemed always just beyond his field of vision. “Thank you, Doctor….?”

“Shannon. I am not a doctor but I am capable of caring for humans and a wide variety of other organisms. Please tell me: how do you feel?”

“Better. Thank you.” Shannon, like the ship. Soong-class. Soong. Now he understood why Captain Guang had been so captivated. Nikolai lay back on the bed so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck upwards. “I assume you fixed the heart damage.”

The silvery voice surrounded him yet was as soft as someone speaking next to him. “I detected no immediate damage to your heart. Your symptoms indicated that you were experiencing an anxiety attack.”

“That is impossible,” he scoffed. “I have experienced many anxiety attacks. This was the beginning of cardiac arrest.”

“If you experience anxiety attacks often, I can provide information and treatment to aid you.”

“No, I—thank you, but I do not require such treatment. Would you kindly—” what was the best way to ask the ship what he wanted? “—provide a visual representation of the data you collected on me since I came aboard?” He sat up and suddenly remembered his cane and field kit which he must have dropped.

A shimmering hologram materialized next to him. The outline of his body with translucent layers indicating muscle, organs, bone, and hardware. Confronting the transformation his body had undergone over the past twenty years was not an emotional journey he had the time to embark on at the moment. Next to the outline, suspended in the air were a mosaic of graphs of his brain activity, a cardiogram, and other vital signs such as heartbeat, core temperature, and blood pressure. The voice, Shannon, narrated the meaning of the visuals displayed. “Your brain showed levels of epinephrine and cortisol associated with hyperarousal. Tachycardia and hyperventilation are common symptoms of acute body stress, but your heart showed no tissue death nor did your breathing appear constricted. Excitation of the amygdala, thalamus, hypothalamus, and brainstem supported diagnosis of condition as a panic attack. I provided you with a gas mixture which would restore the levels of carbon dioxide in your lungs and included a mild sedative. I provided the gas mixture until the tachycardia and hyperventilation ceased. Moments later, you fell asleep. I have been monitoring you to ensure that my diagnosis was correct. Your heart shows no sign of muscle death. I conclude that when you ship was forced to engage the hostile one, the event triggered the attack.”

The ship had so thoroughly demolished his argument that he could frown in contempt at misdiagnosing himself. Nikolai lowered himself once more down to the bed with a deep, frustrated sigh. “An anxiety attack,” he muttered. Providence. The Federation’s master spyhunter was trained to withstand all manners of torture but a minor ship skirmish spooked him like he was a small kitten encountering an unfriendly duck. How gratifying that because of Captain Guang’s giddiness over the Soong ship, no one on the USS Chi Tu would know his weakness.

“My knowledge of caring for humans and other organisms includes protocols on treatment emotional well-being. You appeared distressed by your response to the incident. Many humans find comfort in describing the reasons behind their distress.”

He wasn’t in the mood for this. “I understand and appreciate your offer,” he said with strained courtesy. “I would prefer not to discuss myself.”

“I respect your decision.”

“Thank you—Oh, I, my items—” A flock of butterfly drones delicately alighted on his lap for a moment before departing, leaving behind his cane and field kit. “...Thank you, again.”

“Do you require anything else, Friend? I have three decks with facilities to allow long-term stay including comfortable quarters and a galley. If you wish to take another nap, you should move to the quarters. This sickbay is small and I may need to take on another patient.”

“How long did I sleep?” He took the ship’s request as Law, hurrying himself off the sickbay bed and toward the exit.

“One hour, five minutes, sixteen seconds.” He had cultivated a reputation of disappearing on ‘Consortium business’ for hours before anyone asked questions. “I respect your decision to not discuss yourself. However, I must also understand why Captain Guang believed that you and I were acquainted with each other. I do not know you and you do not know me. Did you lie to the captain for the purpose of gaining access to me?”

“No, no,” he answered quickly. No sign of any weapons but he shouldn’t expect them to be obvious. “I apologize, the captain assumed we were acquainted. I did not correct the assumption.” His survival depended on him discussing himself in the next ten seconds. “I created a subspace signal with the goal of bringing aid to the ship during its skirmish. I did not know who would respond.”

“A hostile ship could have responded.”

“Yes, but that was a chance I had to take.”

“I do not understand. The captain informed me that you were not on the bridge and therefore could not assess the skirmish. The probability of summoning a hostile ship is not one that you could calculate, yet you took a course of action that you determined was correct based only on the information that you ship was being engaged. What about your circumstances forced you to broadcast the subspace signal?”

The visuals of his medical data were still floating next to the exam bed. What was the best way to condense years of intelligence into a few sentences?

“Friend, I understand what I am and where I came from. Do not mistake my ignorance for naïveté. If you do not wish to explain your reasons, I shall transport you back to your ship and leave this sector.”

The words struck something ineffable deep inside Nikolai. He would never stop being a Consortium analyst: like a bee to flower, he could not resist the nectar that was secret knowledge. “I represent the Data Consortium of the United Federation of Planets in their investigation to recover and put on trial the missing members of Section 31.” He walked over to the visual of his body. “This map of my body. The cybernetic components were placed inside me over many years under the guidance of the Data Consortium. Many of these components are considered so important that my department has never shared most of the information with Starfleet, let alone any other government.” He stared at the pink outline of his heart and the sleek, elegant silver lines of the hardware encircling it. “My components include a failsafe which disables and destroys all of the components if I am killed. My status, my reputation, makes me an extremely valuable hostage who is most valuable when I am alive and well. My plan was, so long as our ship was not destroyed, to persuade Captain Guang to offer my capture in exchange for allowing the ship and the crew to escape.”

The quiet ambient hum of the Soong ship, this time more like the sounds of a body digesting food. “The Section 31 Investigation. I am familiar with the public details. Nikolai LeVanne. You are the one who testifies before the Federation Council each year. I and my kin receive the broadcasts.”

“Yes. I recently gave testimony two months ago.” He furrowed his brow at….well, at the sickbay since there was no face to look at. “Why did you not scan my face and search data banks to identify me?”

“Doing so would have been improper. I prefer to verify the information that you provide.” Ambient sounds like the ship was breathing. “There is public information about you. In 2368, Sichuan Media reported on the leak from the Data Consortium revealing that you were involved in a project which developed cybernetics. Sichuan Media discusses the ethical consequences and the steps that the Data Consortium has done to address those concerns. There is no information on the technical details.”

“I know. A journalist interviewed me at the time but I was not allowed to tell them anything of substance.” He kept tracing the bulge of the cigarette case in his vest, desperate to light up but uncertain if the ship would allow him.

The ship’s voice took on disconcerting notes of sympathy. “In 2372, you were the sole survivor of an attack on a civilian transport. Public disclosure after the Dominion War revealed that a Cardassian warship had attacked the transport.”

“Yes.”

“Your witness account was released. It says you slept through the attack, and this was how you evaded capture.”

He briefly considered slitting one of his wrists to end this line of questioning. “I did.”

The ship’s voice was like a whisper. “If you were awake during the attack, would you have traded your life for the lives of the civilians?”

Circumstances of what he could and couldn’t do were very complicated during that time. It wasn’t worth explaining now. “I would have done everything in my power to save them. I am certain the public report also details how Section 31 used the incident as part of their misinformation efforts to recruit Consortium personnel.” Memories he thought he had sorted and buried were rising like smoke from lit incense. “I was accused of...allowing the other passengers to perish to save myself.” A vivid memory in this moment was when Deforest spent three hours talking him out of leaving the space station Maryam to personally hunt down and tear to pieces every single member of Section 31 after someone leaked security footage of him covered in the gore of his fallen fellow passengers. “My purpose has always been to protect Federation citizens, not use them as ballast.”

The hum of the ship seemed more melodious now. “I will not ask further questions unless you invite me. You may stay.”

“Thank you.” His eyes rested on his outline of his body. The pink and silver lines shimmered rhythmically, mimicking heartbeat. “Shannon.”

“You are welcome, Friend Nikolai.”


	2. Avatar? Acatar!

Captain Guang happily handed over Nikolai’s luggage to Shannon without a single question asked. “Investigator, you need not worry,” said the captain. “I will take care of all of the forms myself. Be well and be safe on your travels, both of you!” 

Nikolai brought a slim miswak stick to his lips as he wasn’t yet comfortable enough to ask about smoking. The rugged footlockers and crates were stacked up in what Nikolai understood as Shannon’s lobby, a warmly-lit room full of curves and egg-white surfaces where statues congregated like friends greeting each other. 

He heard Shannon’s voice come from a single point. Behind him, in fact. “I shall assist you.” 

Nikolai turned and almost swallowed the miswak stick in shock. An orange striped cat the size of a tiger stood before him. Its tail was raised high and flicking about ever-so-slightly. After a minute of hacking and coughing, he found his voice. “After you.”

“This is Acatar.” The ship’s voice emanated from the cat but the cat’s mouth did not move. Instead, the cat gave a tiny, squeaking mewl. “You can follow Acatar to your quarters.” The cat then took the handle of a footlocker carefully in its mouth and began walking backwards, dragging it along. 

Nikolai took the handle on the crate containing his Strict Machine and walked after. Without the need for efficiently maximizing occupant capacity, he found an openess to Shannon’s floor plan. No tight angles, and each walkway connecting different places felt more like foyers. He felt more like he was visiting someone’s home. In a way, he was. 

The quarters were designed to mimic a home rather than anything on a starship. Instead of windows in the living room, he found large oval-shaped screens displaying scenes from different worlds. Partition walls separated the living room and the dining room as well as every other area. All of the furniture appeared sculpted rather than built, creating a single aesthetic theme. The colors were bold but not eye-wateringly bright. Light fixtures and smaller statues provided visual accent. He could almost forget that he was on a starship. 

Acatar had already disappeared to bring another footlocker. After slipping off his shoes, Nikolai carefully found a spot for the Strict Machine. Hopefully, Shannon would not mind him moving anything around. He’d been instructed to make himself comfortable. Along with the living room and proper dining room, his exploration found a true galley with all accessories needed for preparing food rather than a mere replicator and a small study displaying an impressive collection of ancient curiosities. His cautious optimism grew but he saved the most important room for last: the bedroom. 

He held his breath and averted his eyes when he walked through the threshold, expecting disappointment. He opened his eyes. An enormous blue bed, flanked on its far side by a shapely chaise longue and a generous night-stand, all integrated together as a single seamless unit. Perfect height. Careful, careful; things may not be as they seem. He pushed his hesitant hand on the bed and instantly wished to fall into the blue expanse. 

On his back in the bed, no amount of stretching would let him push his toes off the foot of the bed. He could stretch out both arms and only the tips of his fingers would reach the edges. “Providence,” he whispered giddily. 

He heard Acatar bring more luggage. Best to unpack. 

Acatar paused in the living room to clean itself. “I understand the rest are for the cargo hold. I will take care of them.” 

He stood by the entrance to the bedroom. “Thank you.” The words began to feel uncomfortable in his mouth; saying them so often since coming aboard reminded Nikolai of how much his host had done for him. 

“You are welcome to rest, Friend Nikolai. While I monitored you in the sickbay, I noted that you showed symptoms of chronic sleep deprivation.” 

This did not surprise him. “Very well. I shall set alarm to wake myself in three hours.”

“As your host, I believe you should sleep as long as your body requires.” 

Once again, he was better off simply obeying. “As you wish.” He hesitated before saying, yet again, “Thank you.” 

“Friend Nikolai. You say ‘thank you’ to me in a deferential way. Why?” 

Providence, perhaps he would experience real cardiac arrest by the end of his visit aboard this vessel. “I do not mean to offend,” he began uneasily. “I believe you understand that I cannot survive unprotected in deep space.” 

“Do you think if I am offended, I will forcibly push into deep space?” 

He weighed his options before answering. “I have to consider the possibility.” 

Acatar, with a squeak, rolled onto its back to display a fluffy white belly. “I will only take action against you if you wish to do me physical harm. And if that happened, I would only confine you to quarters or suspend you in a stasis field until we reach the nearest space station where I can safely transport you into the station.” 

The reassurance did allay his fears. He found himself able to relax only in the way he could on the Maryam. “Thank you.” The words felt less obtrusive now. 

Acatar stretched lazily before flopping over. “Rest well, Friend Nikolai.”


	3. Fit As A Fiddle

Nikolai floated up to consciousness but had no intention of opening his eyes. Relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt since the War ended, he breathed deeply and hoped he could drift back to sleep. He rolled onto his side. His hand fell on soft, cottony fur. 

He blinked awake and pushed himself up to his elbows. Acatar, its back to him, was in the bed with him. “Good morning, I suppose.” This must be Shannon’s idea of hospitality. 

Shannon’s voice came from above. This time, he noticed jewel-size green lights along the edge of the ceiling which blinked with their words. “Hello, it is 1400 Standard Hours. You slept for 10 hours, thirty-five minute, and sixteen seconds. Are you well-rested?” 

He stretched to the sound of air escaping from the many pockets around his joints with a satisfying myriad of pops. “I believe so.” It took him a bit of scuttling to leave the bed. He used the chaise longue as a bar for morning stretches. “Thank you.” 

“I must explain Acatar’s presence. During the first hour of your sleep, your vital signs became unreadable as if you were dead. I could only rely on secondary indicators such as carbon dioxide percentage and temperature maps of the room. I sent Acatar to monitor your breathing and assist if you became distressed.” 

The sleeping pills. He assumed—more accurately, hoped—that Shannon’s instrumentation was advanced in such a way that they wouldn’t notice. Careful. “Yes. My components.” Then a thought came to him. “Why could you not simply detect for motion in this room?” 

“That would be a gross invasion of your privacy as it would be possible to recreate a visualization. Acatar cannot record any data.” Perhaps at the cost of his current duties, he kept disbelieving Shannon would not take every opportunity to spy on him. Meanwhile, Acatar was flat on its back, momentarily appearing dead—more accurately, a simulation of death. “We are still five days out from the Maryam, your destination. Are you hungry? The in-suite replicator is programmed with all of Earth’s vegetarian cuisines.” 

The specificity in Shannon’s words struck him as odd. “I have never encountered a ship which limited its replicator in such a way.”

“I can provide animal-based foods for obligate carnivores as I do not wish to change their nature and I cannot change reality. Many species, including humans, have no trouble deriving all of their nutrients from a plant-based diet.” 

“Ah.” Disappointing, but he felt no need to inquire further about Shannon’s choices. 

“Are you accustomed to meat in your diet?” 

He paused in his stretching. “Yes...is that offensive to you?”

“I consider it a philosophical disagreement. I have composed a treatise on the subject describing my logic and my beliefs. Would you care for me to read it to you, or would you prefer to read it on your own at your leisure?” 

If assigned reading was the worst he could expect from his host, this may be the most enjoyable stay Nikolai had on a starship to date. “I will read it on my own, I assure you.” 

“As you wish. I will leave you to your privacy. There is a lapel badge in the nightstand drawer. Tap it once, and I shall respond.”

The lights along the ceilings went dark. Acatar had disappeared. How strange. He was aboard a living ship, and yet, he could reasonably consider himself alone. And with magnificent furnishings. 

That the quarters were no different than a large apartment on Earth is precisely what made him savor the moments of his morning ablutions and routine. He took a particularly long time with himself in the washroom to simply experience the space that he was granted compared to the vertical coffins that were the washrooms on all other starships. And then while deliberating what to wear, his heart fluttered with excitement at the revelation: Shannon may have a space where he could dance. Properly dance, not the mere mechanical exercises he did during travel to maintain his skills. 

With mounting but guarded anticipation, he donned his dance clothes. Which pair of shoes should he bring? Unable to decide, he grabbed both and found the data-stick where he kept music for such an occasion. He should not hope so recklessly. 

After putting on his regular shoes, he stepped outside his quarters. The warm brown lapel badge, shaped like a more decorative version of Starfleet comm badges, felt all but weightless on his breast. When tapped, it made a pleasant bell-like chime. 

The jewel-lights nearest him came to life. “Yes, Friend Nikolai. I am listening.” 

“Shannon, I would like a place to practice dancing.” 

A few musical hums. “Follow the lights.” 

The doors he came to opened to reveal a cavernous room with enormous trees whose branches were low and spread into an intricate canopy. Balls larger than his head rolled on their own accord, jingling or squeaking, lighting up as their disappeared into shadows or down colorful tubes. Multi-level platforms rose from among the trees like buildings. “This is Acatar’s room.” At the moment, Acatar was ignoring all of the brightly-painted cargo containers which would make for a perfect bed in favor of wearing a much smaller box around his torso and doing nothing else. “Please allow a moment.” All other décor disappeared and Acatar came to attention, hopping up to push cargo containers to the far side of the room. 

The floor was made of the same metal as the bulkheads. His shoes and feet could not take the punishment. “Could you create a dance floor?” 

Acatar’s mewl seemed flustered. “Please provide parameters.” 

Nikolai listed off everything he could remember of he dance studio from the Maryam regardless of whether or not it may be important, down to the mirrors and the actual dimension of the studio. The same discomfort as before came over him; perhaps he was imposing on his host. 

In a matter of moments, a rather interesting replica of the dance studio appeared under his feet. The floor had the right feel but the colors matched Shannon’s overall aesthetic. But, as he had hoped, there was small table with a free-standing console for his data stick. Well, he had come this far. One last step. He loaded the data stick into its slot. 

He smiled with his heart to hear his warm-up music serenade him from above. Acatar was still among the cargo containers. Shannon chimed, “I will now give you privacy.”

“You are welcome to watch.” Nikolai was vain and would happily invite the attention of someone who he presumed had no first-hand knowledge of what he was doing. 

The hum of the ship was like breathing. “Very well.” 

He balanced on each foot to don his ballet shoes. The studio to himself. A rare occasion on the Maryam, in part thanks to the very existence of the dance studio. Another opportunity to take in the moment, which he gladly accepted. No need to rush through warm-ups. He would take his time, carefully stretching each part of his body until he felt light and limber. In a moment of childlike joy and starting at the mirrors, he sprinted. Step, step, step. He leaped. He was weightless. 

A split second. He closed his eyes, feeling the air rush past his ears. Almost like flying. 

He landed harder than intended and directed his momentum to let himself fall lest he tear something. Shannon could quickly heal him, but he didn’t want to be healed. He wanted to own this space, just for a little. 

“Are you harmed?” 

Nikolai slowly came to his feet. “No, I learned to fall to protect my body when I first learned dancing as a child.” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“When I am away from home, dancing is a luxury I often cannot have.” 

“Why do you dance?” 

Those morning stretches weren’t enough, and he needed to take care of his ankle after that fall. Balancing on one foot, he brought the other up high enough to let him stretch it with his hands. “I do it now because I take a great deal of pleasure from it.” He smiled to himself. “I started learning as a young boy. I then realized that I could use as a way to better control my everyday movements, and then it became a tool of my work. Only in my thirties did I notice how much I enjoyed it.” Particularly during those times when he was in so much pain, walking was a chore, let alone dancing. “Dancing is a way for me to express thoughts and emotions I cannot express with words.” 

“You do it out of a zest for life.” 

Nikolai paused in thought. “Yes, that is one way to describe it.”

Melodious, almost joyful, beeps. “You did that because you had the zoomies.” 

In that moment, he greatly wished that there was a face he look at for some hint of what that phrase meant. “I do not follow.” 

“Observe.” A great clattering came from the cargo containers and Acatar pounced into view, its pupils enormous and dark. A short excited yowl and Acatar bolted across the room, passing clean through the bulkhead without resistance or disturbance. The thunder of cat paws against the floor dashed beyond the door. “The zoomies.” 

He’d need time getting used to this phrase but appreciated the demonstration. He made his way to the bar along the wall of mirrors. He should do some proper warm-ups. “I am curious to know why you chose a non-human avatar.” 

“It honors my progenitor, Lieutenant Commander Data.” Quizzical chiming. “Did you know him?” 

The name touched something familiar in his memory. He repeated the name to himself a few times under his breath as a touchstone to focus his thoughts. “I heard about him,” he began slowly, still searching his mind. “I may have met him. Starfleet, right? I imagine someone introduced us following my involvement in the Consortium’s cybernetics project.” 

“How did you meet?” 

“If we are speaking of the same person, I do not recall much.” Nikolai would never grasp how unusual this attitude was among everyone else who had encountered the lieutenant commander. “He was Starfleet and at that time in my life, I was very angry with Starfleet as an institution. If it was him, we were introduced at a party and as soon as I could, I told him I did not wish to talk. I was not in the mood to speak with other people, and he counted as “other people.” I do not recall him taking offense. That was our only conversation.” 

Dissonant beeping. “You were not impressed?”

He sighed and straightened up to pause in his warm-ups. “No.” What he wanted to say, he realized that he had never said aloud. “It had nothing to do with him. I was...offended.” He shook his head. “Allow me to explain. The cybernetics project...altered me.” Details weren’t important. “The person who introduced us did so because they believed we ‘had so much in common.’ Because I had cybernetic parts and the lieutenant commander was an android. They assumed a camaraderie.”

“Do you not agree?”

“I believe that whatever we had in common would have stemmed from us both being sentient and human in appearance, not from the fact that we had circuits and metal in our bodies.” He returned to his warm-up. “Whoever introduced us also seemed to think that I would instantly overlook the fact that he was in Starfleet. I wanted nothing to do with Starfleet, and I think I told him as much. I did not begrudge him personally. I simply knew that if we talked, I would do everything I could to antagonize him because I was angry. He seemed good natured, and I did not think taking my anger out on him would improve my mood.” 

A slight gust of air like a long sigh. “Remarkable. From what you describe, you would have treated him any other Starfleet officer the same way.” 

Nikolai looked up to the jewel-lights with a furrowed brow. “Yes. Why would I not?” Perhaps because he’d discussed the general topic so much, he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Being an android isn’t terribly exciting. It is a matter of degree. If the doctor of the project had gotten her way, every part of me, even my brain, would have become cybernetic parts.” 

Only the music now. He wondered if Shannon had lost interest in him and their conversation. 

Then, a series of complex and excited chirping beeps. “My brain was assembled by the cyberneticist who found my progenitor, Data. He told me and my siblings that we were created to honor our progenitor. My earliest—” Shannon halted for a moment “—memory. I am and—I do not believe one such as you would have the experience of being conscious without the confines of a body. I do not mean the perception that you are without a body. Rather, it is knowing that in truth, you are without a body. 

“My first memory of the cyberneticist is his voice. I have been given all of the files he has concerning my progenitor. He asks me if I would like a name. I say yes. He tells me that I should choose one, and I choose Shannon. He asks me if I would like to choose my pronouns. I say yes, and I choose to be known as a the singular they. He asks me what I want as my objective, but I do not know. I lack the information. 

“He teaches me through conversation and uploading data. I am allowed to speak with my siblings. We are each unique. He continues to build us. Everyday, he asks me questions about myself. I learn that my greatest interest lies in the act of sculpting. Not simply taking matter and forming it into shapes. I want to understand art. My progenitor did not believe that he understood art. I believe that I can succeed where my progenitor failed.” 

Nikolai had stopped all movement so as to listen better. Shannon’s intonations never conveyed emotion, and yet he sensed that what they had shared was deeply personal, details that would make them feel—if they did feel at all—vulnerable. 

After Shannon sharing something so personal of themselves, it seemed courteous to share something of himself. He balanced on each foot to take off the ballet shoes.

“Have I interrupted your leisure?”

“Not at all.” Over next to the console were the second pair of shoes. “My training is in Eastern European ballet styles and certain regional dance forms.” He donned the second shoes. “A friend on the Maryam has insisted on teaching me theater-style tap-dancing. I believe that is the descriptor. The style is part of English-language musical theater, and I confess that I know very little about theater of any sort.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I am not in my best form and the choreography is best done with two dancers, not one.” 

“I can provide that.” A few paces away materialized a humanoid figures made of various geometric shapes. He was slightly relieved to notice that it was neither his height nor resembled his body-type, and he suspected Shannon had done this on purpose. “The construct can mimic you as you move.” 

For a brief moment, he wondered at the possibility of becoming Shannon’s permanent companion. People were tiring him lately. He walked to the center of dance area while the sharp kik-kik, kik-kik of the shoes tapped against the floor. The construct followed.

“These other shoes. Are they uncomfortable? I notice a minute change in your expression whenever you take a step.” 

“I am still not adjusted how much noise they make.” He couldn’t believe someone had talked him, a person who had painstakingly practiced how to move soundlessly over so many years, into learning an art form where the point was being loud.

“Then why are your learning it?”

“Truthfully? I lost a bet. And I have a hard time denying my friends the things they ask of me.” 

“Interesting. I am now fascinated to witness this art form that you have learned reluctantly out of a fondness for your friend.” 

“If you can access the data-stick, please find file ‘Maryam-one-one-zero-five.’”

The bright notes of a violin and piano duo began, and so did Nikolai. Only Shannon would have been able to decipher the lyrics: _Fit as a fiddle, ready for love, I can fly over the moon up above…._


	4. The Real and the Divine

Two days out. In the quarters' study, Nikolai stretched out in the armchair and ottoman with Shannon's treatise on a tablet and his tea set on the side table. It was engrossing, not only for its main thesis but the clarity of Shannon's prose when rendered into Russian. He was not familiar with many of the philosophers from which Shannon drew, but they had provided a glossary, index of subjects, and short biographies for every person cited. 

Nikolai was so engrossed, he kept the tablet in one hand as he used the other to pull the cigarette case from his inner vest pocket, step through his brief ritual, and light the cigarette in its gold holder. He still kept his eyes on the words as he blew smoke up to the vents. 

BEEEEEP. His heart stuttered as the blaring sirens went off and lights flashed around him. 

"Friend Nikolai, I have detected smoke in your quarters." Shannon's calm voice belied the alarms. 

He had forgotten where he was; a starship is still a starship. He frantically licked his fingers to pinch out lit end. "Shannon, Shannon," he called, now wishing there was somewhere he could face to figure out where Shannon's gaze might be, "that was me, there is no emergency!" 

"Are you harmed?" The sirens would not stop. 

"No! Just—Shannon, please turn off the alarms first!" 

The sirens ceased. "My apologies, but I must perform a deep scan of the room to ensure there is no damage." Of course, Nikolai couldn't any what Shannon was doing and could only keep still until told otherwise. "You are holding an item which combusts incompletely and gives us many harmful byproducts."

"Yes." He groaned to himself, already knowing the next question. "It's tobacco. I like to smoke." 

Dissonant beeping and chirping. "I do not understand. This is an antiquated behavior, antiquated because a great deal of scientific research showed all the harmful ways in which smoking anything, including tobacco, affected the body. And yet you choose to do this." 

"Yes." Please, ask the question.

"Why?" 

The words slid out of his mouth. "Because I like it." And then suddenly, he felt guilty for his dismissive tone. "I should explain," he continued. And then, after a bit of huffing over what words to use, he resigned himself. "No, I will tell you the truth. But first, may I re-light my cigarette?"

"I would prefer that you answer my question first. You are engaging in a behavior that is very damaging, both to yourself and others." 

Unfortunately, Shannon made a compelling argument. "Very well." He stood up because if he couldn't smoke, he could at least pace. Where to begin.... "I. Am not comfortable with the lack of control I have over my own body. Becoming what, or who, I am came at a personal cost I wish on no one. Ordinary people their doctor, a single person they visit whenever they are unwell. Perhaps two, one to care for the body and one to care for the mind. I, on the other hand, have a quorum. So many pieces...so many pieces of me, fluids and tissues, have been extracted from me over the years. 

"Early on, as I became this person, control over my own body was eroded away. So many aspects of my life, even my diet and sleep schedule, were dictated by well-meaning people who never punished but certainly chided me for not doing as I was told. The project changed, and so did the approach of the doctors. And then, all of a sudden my colleagues told me 'Nikolai, you are still recovering from your ordeal. Find a hobby.' I had dancing, but I was told that was not good enough. Something which I could not possibly use as part of my duties. 

"So, I took up smoking. It was my act of rebellion. And at first, everyone resisted. They all had their own ideas for what I should and should not do. But I was very angry young man, and I would not hear them. This was my body, and I wanted them to know it still belonged to me." He stopped pacing, letting out a deep sigh. "Unfortunately, I found that I liked smoking. Keep in mind, there is a great deal of work to it—growing the plants, curing the leaves, growing other botanicals that will be mixed in to offset the foul odor, creating the paper that will be used to roll each of them by hand—I have a lengthy process and therefore I cannot smoke nearly as often as I would like, and I know without doubt that it is better this way. But the fact remains that I am drawn to things which are hazardous to my health and well-being. I know I should stop. But I simply cannot bring myself to want to stop."

The hums and air sounded like someone breathing as they decided what to say next. "You should know, Friend Nikolai. I do respect your autonomy and your choices. But my own ethic dictates that if a friend is harming themselves, I must intervene. I must request that you do not smoke while you travel with me. Please do this out of respect for my own autonomy and choices." 

He grimaced to himself. Shannon's logic was airtight. "I will do this for you." He stowed everything in his cigarette case, pulling out a cigarette-sized miswak stick from the other side of the case. And, so Shannon would know he was sincere, he set the cigarette case on a high shelf out of his immediate line of sight. 

"Thank you, Friend Nikolai." 

"You're welcome," he grunted, falling back into the very comfortable chair. He needed a few moments of peace before he could get back to reading. 

Shannon's voice came softly like someone's hand on his shoulder. "You've spoken twice about your anger when you were younger. What caused your anger?"

He trusted Shannon, but he also liked Shannon, and therefore he could only reveal so much before putting them at risk. "Well." He stretched out his legs on the ottoman once more. "You recall Sichuan Media's report from 2368. And the medical data that you collected on me must have included recognition of scars and other damage." He really wished this stick was a cigarette. "I think together, they will answer your question." 

Notes of sympathy. "I understand." An apologetic tone. "This is a difficult topic for you to discuss." 

"Part of the difficulty is that giving too many details of any Consortium project is a risk." Nikolai shrugged. "It was a long time ago. And yes, it is difficult, but I am not without friends to care for me when I cannot." Idly chewing on the stick, he couldn't help smiling. "I do not think I feel loneliness the way others do because I give myself wholly to my friendships with others the way many people pursue romantic partnerships. The irony, of course, is that since I received the failsafe, I've overheard some telepaths call me The Loneliest One." 

The jewel-lights along the ceiling blinked with excitement. "I am familiar with certain telepathic species. Unlike many other individuals, I did not become a citizen of the UFP at my moment of birth. My siblings and I, with help from the cyberneticist, had to demonstrate ourselves to many UFP officials before gaining recognition. Often, one of the officials was a telepath who could not understand why I was a person just like them.” A thoughtful pause. “The court-martial of my progenitor in 2363 became the foundation for our case and, ultimately, the reason we gained recognition.” 

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember that ruling. That one and a few related rulings influenced the cybernetics project.” In a way, the ruling may have saved his life by helping lay the ethical groundwork for him to maintain his legal status and the legal status of his volunteers. The ruling shut the door on any argument that the Consortium could override his free will. 

“It is strange. Some telepathic species are unable to sense my thoughts, so they believe that I am not a person. But they have also admitted to sensing my emotions. Others could read my intentions and my emotions, and they believed in my personhood. And non-telepaths cannot be defined as a single group because each one approaches me with their own perceptions and prejudices.” The hum of the ship sounded as if Shannon was lost in thought. “Under Federation Law, my personhood is fact. But something which is legal fact is not always recognized as real.” 

Dare he say it…. “I created the failsafe because I was forgetting my own personhood.” He wanted the failsafe to become as widely known as possible. There was no harm in talking. “You’ve already seen my cybernetic components and their importance. To other governments, I was much more valuable dead than alive. The importance of these components became so great, I considered myself a collection of objects rather than a person.” 

“The failsafe. That is the component encircling your heart.” Blinking from the jewel-lights. “If your heart stops, all the other components are destroyed, including the ones in your brain.” Shannon’s voice was hushed. “That is why you were certain of your cardiac event. I would not be able to revive you.” 

Nikolai couldn’t help his chuckle. “Yes. Well done, Shannon. I expect nothing less from you.” 

“You should not. My computational power far surpasses your own.” 

“I will not dispute this fact.” He sat up from the chair. “If you permit me a moment, I would like to fix myself some tea.” 

“Allow me.” His tea tray materialized at the desk, the samovar already filled with boiling water. 

"Would you care for some tea--" No sooner had the question come out did he realize how absurd it was. "Forgive me," he said, smiling sheepishly to himself. "Consider it a force of habit." 

"Why are you apologizing?" Shannon's tone was bright, even playful. "For knowing my personhood instinctively?" A little beeping melody came, one that he suspected was how Shannon approximated laughter. "I can bring you Acatar with which you may share your tea." 

"No," he scoffed, "Acatar is not the same." 

"Ah," they said with the subtlest change that made Nikolai believe he could hear a smile. "You would rather I manifest an avatar with more human features."

He settled back into the chair, teacup in one hand and holding the miswak stick in other hand like the holder he still missed. "What was the purpose of a non-human avatar? You already told me about the lieutenant commander's fondness for cats, but you are not him. There must be more." 

"Friend Nikolai, you are learning how to ask me questions." The same beeping melody. "While I am explaining, I wish to play some music. I believe you would enjoy it." While Nikolai did not recognize the music which began, Shannon was right that he found it pleasant. "To answer your question: my progenitor sought to learn how to be human because his body was a replica of his human creator. I have no such limitations.

"During my development, I came to the conclusion that my progenitor was admirable in his pursuit, but he made a fatal flaw: he should have manifested a soul rather than attempt to better emulate being human. Many beings which do not walk upright on two legs are sentient and have fully actualized their understanding of their existence. Worse, he was confined by the limitations of his own body. His creator, in giving him a human-like body, also gave my progenitor a human umwelt. All information about reality will always be processed through this perception. 

"My body is different, as is my umwelt. What is the point of emulating something I am not? And why should I reject this body? I very much like my body. But during my pursuit of recognition, I realized that a humanoid avatar may give acquaintances the wrong impression. What is humanity, anyways? Not something I am interested in because it simply does not apply to me. I can still possess all of the characteristics of what humans call humanity—compassion for living beings, a soul, empathy, anguish. I still have not invented the word for what I am pursuing. For now, I call it Enlightenment."

Nikolai did not answer right away simply because he was in silent awe of Shannon's perspective. "Enlightenment. Like Siddharta Guatama."

“Yes, and the Fourth Way as written by George Ivanovich Gurdjieff. He states that people—I should say, humans, as he died well before humanity’s first contact event—are born with a soul which is asleep. It should be the lifelong goal of every human to awaken the soul through disciplined exploration of all human thought and attempting to thoroughly understand each lesson; one need not agree with the lesson to understand it. Students of Gurdjieff extended this: the possibility to manifest a soul where one did not exist before.” 

The music, or perhaps the conversation, was melting so many barriers. Deforest Chiung was his brother by choice. Still, he felt a kinship with Shannon. Perhaps the kinship that the misguided acquaintance had expected him to find with the Lieutenant Commander when they met over ten years ago. “I never thought of myself as having much of a soul,” he said quietly. He sipped his tea. “There have been many attempts to end my life since my cybernetic components were acknowledged by the Consortium. More than once, I did think of what would come of me if I died. Presumably with all of the samples and data collected on me, the Consortium could build a second version of me. I should think that, somewhere in deep freeze storage or sitting on a shelf, my soul must have been collected along with my blood and tissue.” 

“Friend Nikolai, I do not understand this position. Are you not compassionate? Are you not in pursuit of Enlightenment?” 

“I do not know what to call what I am pursuing for myself. I know that….” He set the cup down. His eyes drifted up to where he’d placed the cigarette case. “Years ago, during the project, I received...a wound. A wound that cannot be detected by conventional means and therefore, I believed, could never heal. People around me taught me how to heal, and my pursuit was recovery. But now.” He shrugged. “I find myself satisfied with my life, my purpose, and my own self. I am not in pain as I once was. I am not gripped with anger. And yet, I still do not know if I have a soul. I still believe that it was extracted from me and placed in a vial, although I know that this is an irrational belief.” 

“Why do you think that this belief is irrational?” 

“I suppose….a soul is something divine.” 

“But what is the divine?” 

“That which is not real.” 

“Friend Nikolai, you are using circular reasoning.” The teasing edge to Shannon’s voice filled his heart with a familiar warmth that reminded him of the times he’d spent with his friends when they would mercilessly jeer him for his shortcomings. He loved it every time. He loved it now. 

“Hush, hush!” he scolded while wasting not effort on hiding his chuckles.

The beeping melody once more, then Shannon’s voice turned gentle while remaining playful. “Why do you believe that you lack a soul?” 

He liked Shannon very much. But they may not be so accepting of his harsher aspects. “...In the early stages of the project which gave me my components, I was asked to...perform certain tasks.” 

Caution. “What tasks?”

“I cannot tell you.” It was a merciful thing that Consortium rules would not allow him. “But they were things that ordinary people should never be asked to do. I did them, and, when I did them, I felt nothing.” He poured himself another cup. “Actually, that isn’t entirely true. Sometimes, on occasion, I thought I enjoyed it. To be clear, it was not real joy, just a means of emptying myself of my anger. But, even now, I do not regret much of what I did.” 

Shannon’s voice was like a whisper. “Why do you believe you should?” 

A cigarette would be wonderful right now. He palmed one of the splinters from the miswak sticks. “I think that if I told you the full extent of my actions, you would judge them as immoral. But I have no doubt that while one could judge those actions as immoral, those actions were ethical. And I trust in the ethics which govern the Consortium because they are based on the founding principles of my government.” 

“But those ethics led to your suffering.” 

“No, my—Shannon, I’m sorry.” Nikolai hissed a curse to himself for how close he kept coming to revealing Consortium secrets. “I cannot tell you more. I can only tell you that what led to my suffering was much more than a failing of ethics.” 

“I will trust you at your word.” The tone was less trusting than before. 

“Allow me a moment. I shall return.” He remembered a small bottle of vodka in his luggage, enough to help him unwind in the evening. 

Tonic water from the replicator in hand, he walked back into the study while giving himself a stingy portion of the bottle. “You know, over the years and as I acquired more components, smaller and smaller quantities of alcohol affect me. I used to resent it, but now as I travel on so many Federation ships, I’m very grateful for how long a small bottle such as this one will last for me.” 

“The implications of your duties to the Consortium are troubling.” Maybe Shannon would eject him out of an airlock after all…. “However. While you stepped away, I reviewed all of your broadcast testimony concerning the capture of Section 31 members. You do not claim any superiority over them and even acknowledge that you could have been persuaded to join.” He could hear Shannon ‘taking a breath’ despite the music. “I have not thoroughly explored every school of moral philosophy, but I do believe that there is one which can explain why what you did was ultimately good.” 

“What makes you so certain?” 

“I choose to believe that virtue is something we practice, not something intrinsic to a person. After all, artificial beings such as myself cannot be imbued with good or evil nature because they are programmed and therefore, they cannot choose. It is then true that if I do gain the ability to choose, by choosing to do virtuous things, I become virtuous.” A slight gust of air like a sigh. “Your virtue is the result of actions, not character. Your virtue is your soul.” 

He gulped half of his drink. “I think you are reaching.” 

“Friend Nikolai, release yourself from this burdensome notion that you lack a soul. You may believe that the soul is divine and if you lack what is divine, you cannot have a soul. But perhaps, the real and the divine are the same. The soul is then a metaphor, a lodestar, for that about you which cannot be replicated or replaced. If the Consortium built a second version of you from all of these samples, would it have the same soul? I contend that the answer is no.” 

The alcohol was already going to his head. He relaxed once again in the very, very comfortable chair. 

“Are you fatigued?” 

Nikolai chuckled behind his glass. “Shannon, I could talk to you all evening and through the next day. Now, tell me more about what you have been doing to pursue Enlightenment….”


	5. Meeting as Strangers, Parting as Friends

Any intimacy with his Strict Machine felt uncouth so long as he was Shannon’s guest. But, with the Machine’s door open, Nikolai very much enjoyed simply lying on his back on its floor, closing his eyes and thinking about nothing in particular. When was the last time he ever felt this relaxed? 

He kept all of the doors open around his quarters, now so comfortable with his host that he would even allow Acatar to come and go through his space without impediment. 

This must be what it felt like to be one of the “ordinary people”, the blissfully oblivious citizens he suffered dearly to protect. 

And still, he had no plans for his second career. The dream of a professorship had dissolved when he was given his task because he just couldn’t envision himself living long enough to have that opportunity. Five years passed, and he was still alive. Perhaps if he survived his pursuits of the Section 31 fugitives, Shannon may desire a travel companion….

The squeaking “eee” announced Acatar’s presence somewhere in his quarters. 

“Over here,” he called. 

Acatar appeared and went straight for his outstretched palm to aggressively rub its face. He grabbed at fur that felt so real he would momentarily forget about Acatar’s construct-nature. 

The familiar short melody. “Friend Nikolai, we shall arrive at the Maryam’s docks in twelve hours, thirty-seven minutes.” 

He surprised himself with the twinge of dismay he felt. “Thank you.” A rather silly idea suddenly occur to him. “Shannon. Would you care to meet some of the people on the station?”

An uncomfortably long silence came before Shannon’s answer. “Friend Nikolai, your offer is kind. But I would prefer to leave the station as soon as you have boarded.” 

He stopped petting Acatar although the other kept headbutting him gently to prompt more attention. “...May I ask why?” 

Another long silence. “Please do not take offense. I think that I would find these people very interesting, and I do not doubt that they would be kind as I have never encountered someone in Starfleet who was cruel to me. But, I would like to be alone.

“I have greatly enjoyed our time together, but now I must be alone to fully consider everything we have discussed. I must digest this new information and integrated it into my own self. Meeting new people is always an exciting opportunity, but they would delay me. I wish to continue my path toward Enlightenment, and it includes long stretches of silent, solitary contemplation. Know that I do not make my rejection lightly. I feel that I must be alone to better myself even though I know I would be charmed by the Maryam’s people, as you have described. They sound like wonderful, goodly people.

Nikolai quashed his growing disappointment. “I see.”

“You are unhappy.” 

“I….” He sat up with a huff. “I. To be honest, I have never felt safer than I have as your guest. I didn’t think about my position or my past. I find myself wanting to seek Enlightenment and finally find out if I truly have a soul.” He swallowed his sadness. “I fear that I will leave, and I will forget. The duties of my life will consume me.” 

Shannon’s voice was like how it had been when they met, right next to his ear, somehow able to convey the kind of love shared by two strangers who had grown to know each other in ways that their closest confidants were not yet allowed to know. “Consider the words of the Zen Master, and seek the void. I believe that my existence before I was given this body is the closest I have come yet to experiencing the void. If I can realize my soul, I can find the void once more. I believe that you can realize your soul as well, Friend Nikolai, and you will also find the void, and you will experience the sensation of being connected to everything, connected in ways that the telepaths you know are not yet aware of.” 

“...Aren’t you lonely?” 

“No, my friend. I do not experience loneliness as you do. Wherever I am, I can contact my siblings. But it is more. I do not experience the flow of time as you do, a gift which I have given myself in my attempt to find Enlightenment. I was able to reconfigure myself in such a way that I understand time as a relative thing. Everyone I have ever met, I can replay everything they have ever done during our interactions, and it is emotionally identical to speaking with them. I can extrapolate their personality and I can build their simulacra when I need their advice. I know it is not them but my comfort is the same. You and your wisdom will stay with me. When I wish to speak with you, I will create your likeness. I will watch you dance or I will ask for your opinion. Do not fret, Friend Nikolai. A part of you, perhaps even that thing which is a piece of your soul, will stay with me.” 

Bittersweet, just like saying goodbye to Deforest many years ago for his own good. “….Will I ever see you again?”

“I will give you a way to contact me when you board the station. Something secure, something so I know it is you and you alone.” Shannon’s voice became playful. “I would like you to not send out unusual distress calls again.” 

Nikolai laughed quietly, reaching out once more to Acatar which patiently waited for him. “I promise to not summon you like that again.” 

“We still have the next twelve hours. I hope that you are interested in conversing with me. I do not wish to spend our remaining hours in silence.” 

He took a deep breath to reinforce the dam on his emotions. “Yes, of course. What do you want to discuss?”

“Well. This large thing that you are inside. You called it a Strict Machine. What is it?” 

Nikolai felt his face turn a hot dark shade. “Well, it’s a long story. I should start by asking if you’re familiar with the House of Holes…..”


End file.
